


Take a Portrait

by MissSunFlower94



Series: Strange Magic Week Fics [1]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Strange Magic week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 14:13:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4525074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSunFlower94/pseuds/MissSunFlower94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marianne takes Bog on a tour of the fairy palace. Younger Selves/When They Were Kids Day</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take a Portrait

The Bog King eyed the long stone corridor with unease, trying very hard not to let Marianne see how uncomfortable he really was. She had wanted to show him something in her kingdom, in her  _castle_  of all places, and he wasn’t going to disappoint her by his reaction. 

He’d only been to the fairy palace once before; after the destruction of his own castle, he was offered their hospitality indefinitely - mostly at Marianne’s urging. Even then, he only stayed for two nights, and was only there when he absolutely needed to be. Exploring the place hadn’t been high on his priority list.

Nor was it now, but when Marianne asked him if he wanted to see more of it, her eyes wide and glittering with excitement, the ‘yes’ was out of his mouth before he could think it all through. And for the most part, it hadn’t been  _painful_. Marianne was fairly concise, and spoke more about what hijinks she and Dawn had gotten into as children in particular areas than their historical or political importance. And when she did delve into that, Bog actually could admit to being interested.

But now…

Now they were in a hallway, long and straight, windows along one wall and the other holding a countless number of… portraits. 

“Royals, over the years,” Marianne explained unnecessarily, oblivious to Bog’s look of distaste. “The royal family gets one done every few years, as well as individual portraits.”

“I… see.”

They were hideous. All of them. 

Not the paintings themselves - Bog was actually fairly impressed, if not completely _unnerved_  by how realistic they were - but there was this pomp and circumstance, this stiff formality, this  _superiority_ that was apparent in many of them that set his teeth on edge. The rulers - kings, queens, and families - were dressed extravagant to the point of impracticality, surrounded it seemed by all the symbols of their wealth. Bog was a king, yes, but he would never dream of using any of his power on something so frivolous. 

Marianne, damn her, caught the hesitation in his response and turned to him, her smile wide and wicked and in this room in particular, she had never seemed less like the kingdom that called her theirs. “You don’t like it.”

He stumbled, “No I- it’s very-” She raised an eyebrow. “Strange,” he finished.

She nodded, seemingly not offended. “I don’t like it either. The eyes feel like they follow you in all of them.” Well, now that was all he would be able to focus on. _Thanks for that, Marianne._  “And everyone looks so serious. It’s a ridiculous tradition and I don’t understand why they have to be so formal and- and extravagant.”

Bog grinned at the vocalization of his own thoughts. “Your ex-fiance would have fit in perfectly.”

Marianne looked at him, surprised, before bursting out laughing. “Oh he would, he so would. He’d want a portrait for every season of every year - every day! He’s not happy unless he’s  _posing_.”

“I’d noticed.”

Shaking her head, still laughing softly, they continued walking. “C’mon, let’s get out of here before I consider defacing one of these. I have some unpleasant relatives on that wall that could use - oh!” She stopped, something catching her eye and Bog nearly ran into her. “I forgot why I brought you here to begin with!” 

She stepped back a little and made a dramatic gesture towards one portrait in particular. “Ta-da!” She said, dramatically. Bog looked at her blankly for a moment, but obediently turned his eyes back towards the eerie wall of faces.

The girl in the indicated painting looked small, even for a fairy, and younger than Marianne and even Dawn - though perhaps not by too much. Her long dark hair was pinned up and back away from her round face, fastened by a small silver circlet, before tumbling down over thin shoulders in perfect shimmering waves. She was dressed in a gown so pale a color - purple perhaps? - that it might as well have been white, immaculate in ever way. Her eyes were the only thing he liked; as dark as her hair they managed to sparkle, even through the portrait, and while her smile was as demure as could be those eyes  _laughed_ , as though she were enjoying a joke that no one else understood.

All in all, she looked like the very personification of a young fairy princess. But Bog had no idea who she could possibly be. 

“Marianne, do you and Dawn have a younger sister ye’ve neglected to mention?”

Marianne gave a loud snort, elbowing him hard. “You’re funny,” she said.

“No, I’m serious,” he said, cocking his head in concentration as he studied it. She was a… pretty girl, Bog could admit, and he could see her relation if he searched for it hard enough. Another idea occurred to him. “Is it… your mother?” He asked it gently, knowing enough about her to know it was a painful subject even after several years.

She blinked at him a few times. “Wait - are you actually serious right now?”

“Yes.”

“You really can’t tell- you really don’t know who that is?”

Bog had the distinct feeling he was doing something very wrong but before he could stop himself he asked nervously. “So it’s _not_  your mother?”

Marianne groaned loudly, burying her face in her hands. “I cannot believe you. I honestly  _cannot_  believe you.” 

She peeked through her fingers to see him still watching her in almost pained confusion and finally relented.

“Bog, it’s  _me_.”

Bog stared at her for a solid few seconds, before turning to look at the girl in the painting, then back. “… no.”

She clapped a hand over her mouth but had already let out a helpless giggle before she had muffled herself. “Yes, Bog. That is me.”

“But ye-,” he made a helpless gesture between the portrait - the long hair, the demure smile, the pure white gown - to her - dark clad, sword at her hip, positively  _wild_. “I- I don’t-”

Marianne was grinning again - apparently his confusion and ignorance had gone from unbelievable to hilarious now that he had been told the truth. “I was always different, but I used to be better at hiding it,” she looked at the girl - at herself - and shook her head. “Well I say  _better_. See that dress?” Bog nodded. “Immediately after this painting was over I went three steps before I tripped over the hem of it and ended up ripping the whole thing beyond repair. My mom quickly realized longer dresses would never be my thing. I wasn’t going to complain.”

He smirked, imagining that. He looked at the Marianne in the picture, remembering again how he liked her eyes, sparkling with mischief. Yes, that was the same Marianne that he loved, even under the polished and perfect exterior. 

“Does it really not look like me? At all.” She added.

“She’s- you’re… lovely,” he admitted, softly. Marianne laughed softly. “An’ I can see it now. But like ye said, that was ye… hiding yourself. And that shows.”

He brushed her short, wild hair a little out of her face, and smiled at the awed look on her face - an expression she sported frequently when he got gentle with her. “This is who ye are, Tough Girl. And that’s what I like.”

She was blushing, and quickly looked away from him. “You’re ridiculous,” she mumbled. “Let’s get out of here.” 

“Wait. Are there anymore portraits of you here?” Bog asked, curious now, ready to scan the wall for more.  Marianne, still red-faced, grabbed his arm, ready to haul him out of the room herself before he added. “Wait, is that  _Dawn_?”

“Which - oh YES! Oh. I forgot about that!”

“She’s so… small!”

“She was a baby, Bog, of course she’s small! Aw, she was so much cuter than I was as a baby. Oh- and HERE is my mother!”

“Gods, she _does_  look just like you.”

“Really? Everyone says that but I think she looks more like Dawn - look at her nose.”

“You an’ Dawn have the same nose.”

… And they stayed there, for the entire afternoon.


End file.
